He had about ten different first words all at once.
Caviar? Grey Poupon? Check and check.
The master is tapping my arm, he must want food.
I stopped telling those people in the hopes that they’ll understand.
It’s about making progress.
There aren’t too many prodigy doctor shows about kids like him.
I can’t imagine scrolling menus just to say, “I. Am. Angry.”
He has choices now. I made the effort to find his outlet.
I’m no longer putting all his eggs in one silent basket.
We share t-shirts…and he’s outgrowing them. Lord help me.